Rain
by PerfectTragedy
Summary: Harry/Draco Depressing at points. Slash, Cutting. If people actually like it, I may do more. I do not own Harry Potter.  Obviously.


Sometimes, the rain didn't feel too bad. Living in England, Draco spent most of the winter dealing with the downpour, sulking about the corridors, trying to stay dry. But sometimes, once you reach a certain point, being soaked to the bone feels like some sort of liberty.

This might explain why he was sitting outside, getting drenched, while all the sane people at Hogwarts were huddled in their common rooms by the fire. 'Probably feeling bloody cozy.' Draco reflected, lying back in the grass. The rain drops slid down his nose, narrowly missing his eye. He must have looked mad. Maybe he was.

What the school didn't get was that there was logic behind this madness. If you're going to be wet, why not be drenched? Why not take a simple piece of misery to the extreme? Anyway, it was nice out there, once you got passed the whole rain thing. For instance, no one dared go out in the rain. So he was free to let go, free himself temporarily from his charade. For once in his life, Draco was free to think. Or maybe it was the other way around. His life was so piled up, so taken to the extreme that Draco felt he needed to vomit on a twenty four hour basis. Unfortunately, if he followed through with this, he would have been considered bulimic and way too many rumors would be spread about Draco Malfoy. As Draco had spent most of his life trying to make his family look good, this would not have been a good thing.

He really hated it. He hated everything, but he hated himself for being so negative about it all. It was quite an ironic cycle. He smiled bitterly as he ran a finger over a scab on his forearm. It really was a nasty habit. He didn't mind the shock value of it. (Though no one would ever have the pleasure of being shocked. This was a secret.) What he minded were the people it was associated with. The weakness it was associated with. He minded this because Draco Malfoy was not weak. He would not shame the Malfoy name with this disgusting habit.

Sighing bitterly, he took out his potions knife. He was such a hypocrite. He made one, two, three gashes right next to the others on his forearm. It took a while for the pain to set in, and even longer for it to seep out of the wounds. He hated watching it, he felt like some sort of perverted masochist- sadist, but he always watched it anyway. Tucking the knife back into his robes, he thought of his father. Nothing really about him, he just thought of what he was like, what he would think if he knew.

"Malfoy." Oh, crap. Draco hadn't heard footsteps. Who was this person and how much had they seen? Draco felt like he was shaking with nervousness and guilt. He turned around slowly, as if being stopped by the police.

"Potter." He spat back, trying desperately to mask himself back up. Potter was soaked, his robes and hair clinging to his body, and his glasses hopelessly fogged up. Even in the rain, the back of his hair stuck up, but now parts of it seemed plastered to the top of his scalp. The cold made his skin abnormally pale- almost as white as Draco's- resulting in an unusual prominence of the scar on his forehead. He reminded Draco of an angel that got messed up in the angel- making factory and didn't make it to heaven.

"Not that I care," The angel spat, "But your Quidditch Team's looking for you. You're missing practice." The angel seemed angry, but Draco couldn't quite tell you why. Suddenly, he was feeling quite lightheaded. He had a feeling that, if he thought back hard enough, he could tell you the reason for this, but everything was hazy and he didn't feel like it.

"Quidditch?" He replied, wearily. Maybe he should sit down. Were you allowed to sit in front of angels? His forearm was stinging, burning with every drop of rain. He glanced down, and noticed red tinted water pooling at his feet. This, he wasn't sure how to hide.

"Yes, Quidditch, you dolt." The angel answered, clearly annoyed. Were angels supposed to get annoyed?

He decided to ask. "I thought you weren't allowed to be annoyed," he said, and even he could catch how unstable his voice sounded, "Being an angel and all."

"Being an angel?" He seemed almost angry at this comment, and then disturbed. Worry was actually written on his face. Maybe this angel wasn't all bad. Maybe he was just having a bad day.

"Malfoy, are you alright?" He looked down, noticing the pool of reddish liquid around the blonde boy's feet. "Shit, Malfoy!" He cried, "Is that…" he looked around desperately, "Malfoy, is that blood?" Malfoy fell to the ground before he could answer, his sleeves riding up and showing the three long gashes. Harry fell down right next to him, grabbing his arms, trying to cover the bleeding. "I have no idea what to do." He muttered, really crying this time. "Why did you do this?" He asked the boy before him, and his eyes opened, revealing a grey identical to the sky above them.

The boy laughed. "You're no angel." Harry shook his head. Malfoy really looked beautiful, even covered in dirt. Even in what could be the last moments of his life. In what were intentionally the last moments of his life.

"No, I'm not." Harry choked, "I don't even know you that well, Malfoy. But please don't do this to me." The rain was falling fast, and Harry hoped it was masking the steady flow of tears falling from his eyes.

"What am I doing?" Malfoy asked, wide eyed. "I'm not doing anything to you."

"You don't think killing yourself would affect me?" Harry asked, fuming. "I see you every bloody day, you prat. How the hell could this not affect me?" He took out his wand, trying to remember a useful healing spell.

"Oh, that. Well, I didn't mean to." He giggled, slightly, resting his head on the grass again. It kept bobbing up when he spoke. "But I don't mind."

"You don't mind?" Harry raged, "Well, I mind! Does that count for anything?" He tapped his wand desperately. He could fight Voldemort, but he couldn't do this? "Help!" He shouted, glancing up at the castle, "Someone!"

"You mind?" Draco's eyes were closed, which was scaring Harry even more. "Like you minded about Diggory?"

"More, you arse." He was still tapping his wand. "Episki!" He tried, and the blood seemed to slow down. He fixed the wand on the wounds, and they healed faster, until it had completely scabbed up. "We need to get you to Madam Pomfrey." Harry decided, gingerly helping the other boy up.

"No!" Draco said, panicked. "No, Harry, don't. Please. You can't tell anyone about this." He grabbed Harry's sleeved in earnest, falling slightly forward.

Harry steadied him gently. "But you really need help." He said, worried. "I don't want you to get hurt." He added, quieter.

"I thought you hated me." Malfoy replied, bluntly. He almost reminded Harry of Ron.

"I thought _you_ hated me." Harry answered, simply.

"Harry, I'm probably only saying this because I've lost a _lot_ of blood, but sometimes when I'm being a douche, I'm just being a douche." He grinned. Harry thought he could see some color come back into his face (though there was never a whole lot of it.)

"Same here. And I'm probably only doing this because I'm cold as hell…" And Harry kissed him.

_PlanetQueen72- Thankyou! And if I think of anything to add, I will...:)_


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